


Words that we could[n't] say

by WingedBeastie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5957995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedBeastie/pseuds/WingedBeastie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of entries based of a series of tumblr prompts about the things we say and the things we don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Words we said when we were happiest we've ever been

**Author's Note:**

> Words we said when we were the happiest we ever were.” Fenris/Esme Hawke

Esme Hawke was a dangerous woman by the count of many in Thedas and while he did adore her, Fenris was inclined to agree. She was a mage, an apostate of no small ability and when she made a decision, there was very little in the world or the Fade that could deny her. Champion of Kirkwall and vital assistant to The Inquisition, she earned her rest several times over in the opinion of many. She’d even coaxed Fenris into coming home with her, to let the new upstart Magister work to crumble the chains from his end for a little while.

For a few months everything was quiet, quieter than they had any right to be in such chaotic times after the Breach. So when she came into the bedroom of the estate, clutching a letter bearing the Royal Crest of Starkhaven and laughing like a maniac, Fenris found himself more than a little concerned. He’d set the copy of Hard in Hightown she convinced him to read down and looked at her expectantly, brows beginning to furrow.

“What have you done, Esme?”

She seemed fit to dart around the room like a hummingbird, which was lovely to see but put him on edge. He made an affronted noise as she jumped on the bed, settling in next to him with a beaming smile.

“It’s good news, I promise.”

When the skepticism did not drain from his expression, Esme huffed and began to read the letter aloud.

“ _Messere Hawke,  
With the determination and eloquence I have seen in the correspondence we have shared so far, it is little wonder that you are Champion and have been so vital in the healing and the rebuilding of Kirkwall. Your ideas and defense of them are, in truth, more subversive than most of our court is particularly comfortable with. It may only be suggestion, but such a change would ordinarily be too high a price for the good it would do for the Crown and my people._

_But what was once ordinary has proven weak when opposed to so many forces within and outside of our control. In the face of the Breach, the forming of the Inquisition and the election of Our Most Holy, Divine Victoria - and if I am truthful, your startlingly sincere honesty - what you ask appears beautiful in its simplicity. While difficulties will surely arise upon its enaction, a righteous path is never an easy one to walk-_ ”

Fenris chuckled at her sterling imitation of a familiar brogue. “Pretty as it is, this doesn’t sound good.”

She laughed then and Fenris felt his own discomfort ease a little, the corners of his mouth quirking in a slight smile. Esme turned the letter in her hands, presenting it with both hands.

“You should read the next part, Fen.”

The parchment seemed to shake with her nerves, which seemed opposed to her considerable excitement just a few moments ago. However, he took the letter and did as she requested, scanning for where she stopped.

“ A righteous path is never an easy one to walk - especially alone.

While it is not formal yet, the court has been convinced and by some miracle I’ve found a Mother who is willing to stand with us and act as formal guidance from the Chantry. So the chance of an Exalted March will, pleasantly, be rather low. In light of our shared past, the dowry and formal courtship will be considered fulfilled by the crown.  
You will be recognized by law and honored as such, Princess-consort and - “

Fenris blinked at the words on the page, as if he hadn’t quite seen them right. She’d been furiously writing Sebastian for the last few months and he assumed that it had to do with rebuilding Kirkwall. He blinked back the sting of tears, more habit than out of any real desire to hide them.

“..Princess-consort and Prince-consort of Starkhaven.”

At that he handed the letter back to Esme and simply stared at her for a moment. He watched as her expression dimmed and she began to fidget with the letter.

“I know you hate surprises and for the record, Sebastian says he’s sorry for not telling you outright. He wants you to send your response over so I can hear it from you but I just wanted to make sure it was even going to happen before I came to you with this. I-It’s such a big change and you should have the opportunity to say ‘no’ if you don’t want, I can understand why you -”

She paused as Fenris hugged her, shuddering as he ran his fingers into her hair.

“I promised a long time ago to follow along whatever strange place you led. I’ll write Sebastian in the morning.”

“In the morning?” Esme arched an eyebrow as Fenris plucked the letter from her fingers and set it on the nightstand.

“Yes.” he said, smiling against her throat as he pulled her close.

“In the morning.”


	2. Things we never said at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things we never said at all. Ajani Tabris/Zevran

Ajani woke in the dark of night, tense and shuddering as cold sweat slid along her skin. Her gaze swept the room - one, twice and once more until finally she dared to breathe normally. She felt the slide of a hand along her hip and flinched, pulling away from the contact and looking to it’s source with wide eyes. Zevran shifted to lay on his side, propping up on his elbow and looking her over.

“Are they getting worse?” he asked quietly.

“No.” came her response, voice still rough from sleep.

It wasn’t a lie, but she looked away from him anyway and started rummaging for clothing. It was the third time she’d snapped awake like this in the last month, dark skin clammy and completely unprepared for what was to come. 

“Cara mia, you have to -”

He reached and she moved from him again, standing to reach for a discarded shirt. She ducked her gaze from him until she got the shirt on, and dressed slowly to try and work up enough nerve to look at him. As she combed her hair, she heard him shift in the bed and did her best to quiet the relieved sigh that left her as she rose. It ached to stand, enough that she considered simply getting back into the bed. But it wouldn’t do - she was too light a sleeper to .

In the quiet her attention drifted to the mirror next to the bed, the bare illumination of moonlight on her features made her frown. Despite her love’s protest that she was the only one that noticed such a thing, Ajani easily spotted the way her hair had begun to thin and the pronounced bags under her eyes. The gray at her temple was expected, Cyrion had greyed early and been gray for most of her life. That had done its share to convince her more nervous compatriots that she should look into retiring. Sliding the breeches up her leg, she could feel herself scowling - there was too much to do and too much at sake to simply stop.

Fingers brushed along her own and she turned to see Zevran sat at the edge of the bed, bringing her hand to his lips for a kiss. She watched as he kissed the back of her hand, her knuckles and her fingertips before he looked up. When she met his golden gaze, she felt her heart flutter; the thrill of being the focus of his gaze had never waned, even after all this time.

“Zev…”

“You know, there are easier ways for you to get me to take a late night stroll with you.”

Ajani snorted, laughing despite herself. “You know I live to make things difficult.” 

“True.” He grinned as he stood, pulling her close even as she swat at his arm in annoyance. Ajani breathed him in, resting her head along his shoulder. It did not take long for her to start to shake, and her embrace grew tighter as he gently stroked her back. She blinked, and felt her breath go shallow as she tried to calm down. They knew this was coming, he knew this was coming t-t-they just had to take each day as it came. 

Fear wasn’t worth ruining this. Bitterness wasn’t worth ruining this.

She forced herself to breathe deep, tracing her fingers along the tattoos on his shoulder. The pattern had long been committed to memory, just like the way Shianni’s hair simply refused to be anything but red, or the entertained crinkle of Soris’ gaze. She had to see them...she had to visit home before-

Zev kissed her on the forehead, smiling faintly as he waited for her brows to knit in confusion.

“Allow me to find my shirt and then, as always, I shall follow where you lead.”

Sighing, she gave him a small smile.

“Okay.”


	3. Words We said when we were scared.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words we said when we were scared. Phore Adaar/Iron Bull.

Phore sees the many-eyed, many-limbed Nightmare when she closes her eyes and when it’s too quiet she can hear his voice, low and ominous whispering of her failures to her soul. Saying that Adamant was a shitshow, is charitable, and even now that she and her party have returned to Skyhold, she can’t help but try and keep from shuddering until she’s alone.

She recites scripture unfamiliar to her Tal-Vashoth tongue for what feels like an eternity, trying to still her mind and focus weary nerves. Focus. _Focus_. It’s always been something that the others have that she lacks, especially the other mages; they seem so outstandingly individual, so purely themselves that in her fear she finds herself envying their ineffable natures despite their best attempts to help her. 

Breathe in. Breathe Out. I’m Here.

It’s what she should be thinking, sitting quietly in her room. However, before too long she busies herself with a bit of rope that she usually keeps hidden - one last, if odd, bid for control of her rolling nerves. Knotwork spans the floor in front of her as she works, leaning forward occasionally to adjust the placement of the rope. For all her lust for freedom and all the freedom that being Andraste’s Herald provides, there is something screaming in her for familiarity, for grounding, for control.

_Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun._

It should make her ill, how comforting those words are. She’d thought the Qun a chain once she’d fled from her family home, once she’d begun to see the world and learn there was more to the world than what Tam--her mother told her. It's appropriate that the chain is comfortable now, so to speak, and it’s the only thing keeping her from drowning in the aftershocks of the Fade. 

It’s so comfortable, in fact, that she doesn’t move when she hears the door to her room open, not even to look to see who’s visiting. Part of it has to do with the fact that at this hour, it’s always Bull, the familiar footfall grounding her further as he enters her chambers slowly, cautiously. Her breath leaves her in a huff, a hand drifting up to rub at the base of what’s left of one of her horns. Of course, all he does is watch her with a steely gray eye and of course she bristles at being observed, knitting her brows as she waits for The Iron Bull to open his mouth. It raises her hackles, shoulders lifting until finally she sighs and looks away from her project. 

“Yes, Bull?” 

“Folks are wondering where you disappeared to.”

She looks back to the knot work and sighs, brushing a stray bit of dust off of it. “And?”

“Told them you were recovering. Figured you’d want the peace for the rest of the night.”

“Yet you’re here.”  
It’s what he gets for lingering when she’s so damned exhausted, too tired to watch her mouth. Bull blinks at that, she can tell by the way his horns shift in her periphery. Phore bites the inside of her cheek to keep from apologizing, seething that for all his talent at observation he doesn’t seem to get the hit that she wants to be alone. Only that she doesn’t, same as always. 

It’s probably the most open secret in the damn fortress - the Inquisitor hung up on the roguish mercenary, torn by the call of her duty and the call of her blood. She’s been wary of him since the moment they met, cowed by his manner and his oddly displayed devotion to the faith that says she is little more than a weapon, dangerous with no one to control her. The sight of broad shoulders that make her feel tiny or a low satisfied hum are all it takes from him to make her hot with terror and want and even worse --

“Didn’t think you’d mind _me_ keeping you up, Boss.” 

He fucking knows it. 

Phore makes a noise that would make Cassandra proud, shooting him a look as Bull flashes her a smile that’s all teeth. He does it to get a rise and she knows she performs beautifully every time but for a moment as she sighs, she notices his expression dim a little as his head cants gently to the side. This is the part she hates the most about his teasing: the way he looks at her like a person, when they both know she isn’t.

“You okay?” His voice is low and gentle, in that way she can feel up and down her spine.

She looks down, trying to hide the flush that is probably spreading across her cheeks. Gaze going back to the rope laid out before her, she mulls over the question in palpable silence. He’s the only other Qunari in this void forsaken fortress. He would know how to help her with this thing she feels like she needs, the one piece of of home she feels like will never give her up. 

“Alright, Boss. I get it.” 

He starts to turn for the door, an edge of frustration in his concession and she almost lets him leave. It is simpler and smarter and wiser to let him leave, to let him stew in disappointment. Let things go the easy way for once.

“Wait." Damn the easy way, damn him and damn all of it. "I can’t…” 

Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth when she meets his eye, nervousness forcing goosebumps to rise on her arms. He’s almost never so sharply focused on _her_. There’s a raise to his brow and she wonders what he thinks of her in this split second, if he’s curious if what he believes she’s up to and what she’s actually doing match.

“It doesn’t mean what it looks like,” Phore tries to explain again, turning the lattice work of rope towards him. “But I can’t tie it alone.” 

The Iron Bull looks at her for a long moment and she feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She knows that as well-versed as he is, he not only recognizes the base of the rope work as _Antaam-sar_ , but also what the modifications to it do. Deep down, Phore is thankful that Bull is not a cruel man - she knows she would deserve some sort of comment in reprisal for her poorly veiled distaste for the Qun, but he says nothing to her about it or about any of the implications of her wearing such a thing. All he does is smile and give her a quick nod as he eases closer, sitting heavily on the bed behind her. His touch is tentative on her shoulder and she leans into his hand, sighing as she feels the sharpness of his nails on her skin.

She needs the restraint , with or without him, so badly that she can feel the phantom pull of rope tight on her skin. It's fucked up, that she _needs_ this and isn't even strong enough to ask for it. Not for real. She feels his large hand trace over her skin - along her neck, across the back of her shoulders - and she sighs again, breathing deeper as the tension starts to bleed away.

Maybe having him here won't be so bad.

He guides her to turn to face him, so the press of his hand so gentle that it makes her breath catch with shock; she hadn't figured Bull to be one for delicacy. The way he sweeps his touch over her brow, lingering at the base of her shattered horns and up into the stripe of white hair she has between them. His fingers linger, memorizing scars and features as if she is something worth remembering, something worth caring for. They stay like that for a while- Bull mapping her by touch and Phore kneeling before him until she draws a heavy, shaky breath. She feels him cradle her face between two large hands, sweeping his thumbs to wipe tears away.

"Thank you." Is all she manages to croak before she breaks, sobbing and reaching for him in search of comfort.

“Like I said, Boss." He rumbles quietly, pulling her in and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Whatever you need.”


End file.
